05-31-2025, 09:03 AM
I was reading Charles Bukowski's collection called "On Cats" and it inspired me to write a poem about an experience I had with one of my cats a few years ago.
Feel free to give me critique and advice. Thanks for reading.
It was a Tuesday;
husband planted behind a glowing screen,
me, drowning in anxiety
with irritation
from my child’s blunders
pressing down upon my weary shoulders.
I knelt to the guilty,
settled on the pillowed couch.
Face close, fingers up,
shouts of discipline,
rash and rough.
It was then...
the wise one jumped.
Eye to eye she sat,
between me and our daughter,
with a glare to cower the weak,
wielding the sharp sword of a mother.
With a solid pop of her paw
to my startled cheek,
the very one her loving forehead bumps,
she reminded me–
her silly little human
to get it together.
Feel free to give me critique and advice. Thanks for reading.
It was a Tuesday;
husband planted behind a glowing screen,
me, drowning in anxiety
with irritation
from my child’s blunders
pressing down upon my weary shoulders.
I knelt to the guilty,
settled on the pillowed couch.
Face close, fingers up,
shouts of discipline,
rash and rough.
It was then...
the wise one jumped.
Eye to eye she sat,
between me and our daughter,
with a glare to cower the weak,
wielding the sharp sword of a mother.
With a solid pop of her paw
to my startled cheek,
the very one her loving forehead bumps,
she reminded me–
her silly little human
to get it together.